“Nor I,” answered his chum. “But we’ve got to land soon, or else go back. We’re at least six or seven miles from camp now, and that’s far enough.”
“Supposing I give them a shot?”
“All right, blaze away, but don’t hurt too many of them.”
The shotgun was discharged and one monkey was killed and several wounded. Instantly the others set up a fearful screeching and fled in dismay, through the jungle, until their howling was lost in the distance.
Pushing up the river a little further, the two boys landed and pulled their craft partly out of the water. They looked around cautiously but the only living creatures that appeared were a few birds and they kept at a safe distance.
“There seems to be a sort of open trail to the northward,” said Mark. “Supposing we follow that? I haven’t any fancy for the jungle itself.”
Frank was willing, and soon they were tramping the trail, which led up a hill and around a series of rocks overgrown with gigantic ferns and vines.
“What a peculiar smell,” said Mark, after they had passed the rocks. “Smells for all the world like the root beer we drink at home.”
“I know what it is,” answered his chum. “It’s a sassafras grove we are entering. The professor was telling me of them. They are common here and so are other barks that druggists use.”
A little while later they sighted several small animals, not unlike hares, which crossed their pathway so rapidly that they could not get a shot at the creatures. Then they came to a flock of curassows and by skillful maneuvering got so close that they brought down three before the birds knew enough to take to flight.